What Remains
by Julia Anne
Summary: Riley returns to Sunnydale for a visit, after he hears of Joyce's death a little too late.


AUTHOR'S NOTE-- Well, here we go again. This is my longest fic to date (it's  
only my third) and probably the only time I'll write anything from Riley's  
POV, or concerning Riley. I don't have anything major against him, he's just  
not all that much fun. So, on that note, some of the wording is a bit dorky,  
but (besides my inept dorkiness) it's because this is Riley's point of view  
we're dealing with. So, enjoy, and please R&R so I can get better at doing  
this stuff, because I'm still a beginner.  
Much Thanks.  
  
  
---------------------------------  
As I drive into my old town I get the feeling that I don't know it anymore. It seems   
darker, more uncertain. A place where things you thought could never   
happen. Would never happen. Do. I should've come sooner. I would have,   
if I'd known. But news doesn't get to the far ends of the earth very   
quickly. That was the point of going so far away. To forget about this   
place. I wasn't ever going to come back. Yet, as soon as Graham told   
me the news I was on a plane, cursing myself for not getting here faster.   
I've missed the funeral.  
I just can't believe she's dead. Joyce and I were never that close,   
but she was always nice to me. I never got the third degree or any   
lectures. You could say she trusted me with her child, except anyone   
knows that it's impossible to control Buffy. The most absurd thing is,   
I almost didn't find out she was gone. The only reason I did, is Graham   
just happened to get a copy of the Sunnydale Paper, from Captain Wallace.   
He'd had to make a return trip to pick up a new charge and had left it   
in the back of the chopper. It was about two weeks old when he found it.   
That was only a day ago, though it seems like much longer. He'd called   
my name and then pointed to the thick black print, almost unsure it   
was actually there.  
  
Joyce Summers died suddenly on   
February 25th of complications   
due to a brain tumour. She will   
be sorely missed by daughters   
Buffy, 20, and Dawn, 14.   
  
And that was it. A couple of sentences, lost in the bottom left corner   
of the printed page. It didn't do her justice. It wasn't fair.   
  
I should've called. But I didn't think to in my numb rush to get here.   
I haven't been able to think clearly since I read those words. How   
could this happen? I was there when they said she was ok. Those doctors   
looked us in the eye, looked Buffy in the eye, and said that she was   
ok. And now, only a month later, I find myself back where I was, though   
so much has changed. Back in her driveway. Maybe it's because this is   
my chance to finally be there for her, the way she was with me. But I   
don't expect her to just let me take care of her. I guess I really   
just need to see her. Make sure she's going to be ok. I take a deep   
breath and walk up to the door. Here goes nothing.  
  
I take the cold, dark knocker into my palm and bang it twice. I   
remember how I used to feel outside this door, on this step. A rush of   
excitement would breeze through me. The thought of her scent, her hair,   
her smile would taunt me until the door would open and I'd get to   
look into those deep green eyes. I loved her more then anything.  
  
Now all I can do is shudder. I almost hope that no one will be home.   
  
The door creeks open and I am staring into those green eyes. But they   
aren't Buffy's.  
  
"Hey Kid--." I begin. But, finally, I realise that she isn't a   
kid. Not now. Not anymore. Her face is pale, her eyes red and puffy.   
But that's not all. She looks older. Wiser. She's learned how   
unforgiving the world can be. What it's like to be alone.  
  
She looks me over twice, taking in that it's me standing there and not   
Giles or Willow or Xander.   
"Buf-," she begins to call. I put up my hand and stop her mid   
syllable. I place my hands on both her shaky shoulders and look into   
her eyes. She looks like she's trying to glare at me but can't seem to   
muster up enough emotion. It's all been drained in the past two weeks. I guess now she knows what it's like to have someone leave you. And, in her mind, that's what I did to Buffy. So she hates me. Hopefully not permanently.   
"Dawn, I'm so sorry," I say, as if I could possibly understand   
what it's like to be a fourteen year old girl without a mother. Her   
glare softens into a tear filled stare.  
"Th-Thanks," she stammers. And before either one of can say   
anything else I see her. Or someone who strongly resembles my ex-girlfriend.   
She is paler, even thinner then she used to be, and dark circles shadow  
her eyes. Tear tracks seem to be permanently etched on her cheeks,   
though I get the feeling she hasn't cried much. They've just appeared,   
knowing they belong. She looks at me for what seems like an eternity   
before it registers in her head that I'm here.  
  
"Riley..." she says softly, almost as if it's a question.   
  
Our eyes meet.   
  
"Hey man," I hear from beside me. Our gaze is broken and I   
turn to see Xander, who must've appeared from the kitchen.   
"Hey," I reply, and we shake hands and exchange a glance of   
understanding. I think he always liked my relationship with Buffy. He   
knew I was safe for her, which matters quite a great deal after you   
see your friend's heart ripped to shreds by a vampire.  
  
"Dawnster," he says, "what do you say we go for a walk. You   
could use some fresh air, and ice cream could be involved."   
"Ok," Dawn replies quietly. "But I don't think I want the ice   
cream part. I'm not in the mood.."  
"You should eat." Buffy says. Dawn turns almost resentfully   
to face her.  
"It's not like you have--," her voice softens when her eyes   
meet with Buffy's pleading stare. She's forced to absorb the image of   
someone else who knows what she feels. Her utter agony mirrored.   
"Ok," she says, looking at the floor.   
  
And before I know it Xander and Dawn have disappeared from the room,   
leaving only me and her.   
  
She looks so young, up there on the stairs. So small and fragile. Like   
any sudden movement might break her.   
"Buffy, I'm....I'm so sorry." I don't know what else to say. I   
can't make this better. I look into her eyes and before I know it she's   
in my arms. She's smaller then she was when I left, but she still fits   
perfectly. She smells the same, feels the same. She'll never be the same.   
Even so, I want to relish in this moment of finally having her to   
myself, but I know I can't. It wouldn't be right. So instead I pull   
her close to me and kiss the top of her golden head. Lord, I missed her.  
"I'm sorry," I say again, "I would've come sooner, but I didn't  
know. I only found out yesterday."  
"It's ok."  
  
We separate and I take her hand and guide her to the couch. I remember   
sitting here, across from her, in happier times. I wish I could rewind.  
I watch as she trembles. Has she been shaking like that this whole time?   
I brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  
"Buffy...."  
  
She looks down, her eyes filled with tears, which appear as though   
they may fall at any second.  
"Tell me about the jungle," she whispers dazedly.  
"What?"  
"The jungle. What's it like?"  
"Well," I say, finally understanding. She doesn't need to talk   
about her mother. That's probably all she's heard about and thought   
about for the last two weeks. She needs a story. Something to keep her   
insides alive. To keep the demons out from within her head.   
Just for a little while.  
"The trees are so tall that you'd think they'd go on forever.   
Right up into the clouds."  
"Mmm hmm," she coos delicately.   
  
She looks so tired.   
  
I guide her head to my lap and begin to stoke her hair.  
  
"There are about a hundred different kinds of birds, all   
different colours. Purple, pink, yellow, orange, blue, sometimes mixed.   
And they all sing. But each one has it's own special song."  
"Wouldn't it get kinda noisy?" she whispers faintly. I smile.  
"A little. Except all of the songs fit together to form this   
symphony. Everything just.....works. As one."  
  
I can feel her breathing even out. She's fast asleep. I bend down to   
kiss her head. My angel.  
  
I scoop her up in my arms and carry her upstairs. Feel her limp in my   
grasp. Completely trusting. I can't believe she could still trust me   
after what happened. What I did.  
  
But it's my turn, and I want a shot. For once, I'm taking care of her.  
  
*********************************************************************  
When I get downstairs I see that Xander and Dawn are back.   
Dawn is sitting on the couch staring blankly at the TV, while Xander   
shuffles things about in the kitchen.  
  
"How's she doing?" he asks. I sit at the counter.  
"Why don't you tell me?"  
"Well, I guess you could say that Buffy isn't at her greatest.   
Then again, who can tell? She's so blank it's scary."  
"Tell me about it."  
  
Some dishes clatter. I hear Dawn rise and creep up the stairs.  
  
"So," he says. "You gonna stay?"  
That one strikes me like a pile of bricks. It hadn't even crossed my   
mind.  
"Um..I..I don't..--"  
"There's something you should know."  
"What?" I ask. What else could there be.  
"Buffy, she went after you the night you left."   
My eyebrows shoot up. He continues.  
"I guess she decided a little too late...I mean I saw her   
run after you, but then morning came and there was no you, so I just   
assumed she didn't make it in time..."  
"Yeah.." I say, shocked. She came after me? It makes me feel a   
little better, for some odd reason. Thinking that maybe she hurt over   
me. At least I know she felt something. But does it change anything?   
I feel awful. If I'd stayed I could've been here for her when her   
mother died. But would she have opened up to me? To anyone? I doubt it.   
But what about fate? Maybe she was supposed to miss me. We needed to   
be apart. It hurt me like hell, but I just didn't think she'd ever   
really love me. She never said it. Not through that whole year. But   
maybe she couldn't.   
The clanging of a plate hitting the floor causes me to come out of my   
confused daze and look back at Xander, who has managed to find more   
things to shuffle around in the kitchen. He picks the plate up, which   
is surprisingly still in one piece.  
  
"You gotta love these new-fangeled plastic dishes," he says, "who thought   
that up cause they should be president."  
  
He is joking but his voice falls flat. I look at him more closely.   
He's also different. Well, mainly his eyes have changed. They go   
deeper, they conceal more now. True pain and regret. I'd forgotten   
how long he'd known Joyce. This must be hard for him, which explains   
the constant fruitless busy-work. I guess he needs to feel like he's   
helping Buffy in someway, if she won't talk to him. I know that feeling.  
  
"I'm going to go check on her." I say.  
  
With that, I climb the stairs once more.  
  
As soon as I reach her bedroom door I know something isn't right. I   
can hear crying coming from inside. I push the door open a little,   
just so I can see in. I'm surprised by what I see.  
  
Buffy is sitting on her bed leaning against the headboard. The quiet   
sobbing isn't coming from her, but from Dawn who is curled up on the   
bed, her head in her big sister's lap. I watch as Buffy runs her hand   
through Dawn's long brown hair and repeats over and over; "Shhh, Baby. I know. Shhh."   
When she leans down to kiss the top of her head, I notice the tears   
that are forming in her own eyes. The ones that have been waiting so   
long to come out. And they stream down her cheeks. Like tiny little   
rivers of bungling sadness.   
She doesn't sob. She only cries. As Dawn lifts her head and sits up,   
she looks at her sister, obviously not used to seeing her cry like   
this. And pulls her into an embrace, whispering the almost same words   
that were said to her. "Shhh. I know. Shhh."  
  
As I close the door, I know it's time to go. I write down the number   
from which I can be paged and give it to Xander to give to Buffy. I   
know she won't use it. At least not for a while. What was true remains   
true; we need to be apart right now. I don't know if we'll be together   
again, but at least I feel a little more resolved and fulfilled. This   
time I made the decision to go. I didn't let it rest on some little,   
insignifigant ultimatum. I know it's going to take her a long time to   
get through this. But she can, she's always been strong.  
  
As I drive away from Sunnydale I turn my rental car radio up to full   
blast, to try to block out the memories that are creeping into the   
corners of my mind. As guitar chords meet my ears I realise that   
although I've never heard the song before, I know it quite well.  
  
I knew by the time on the stove  
That you were no longer mine alone  
I guess we're all just out alone  
And everybody is only their own. 


End file.
